


All Love is

by whitherwaywill



Series: what you mean to me [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: :), ALL THE ANGST, Angst with a Happy Ending, Auror Harry Potter, F/M, Falling In Love, Gen, Harry is a Little Shit, Idiots in Love, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Love, M/M, Nott Sr.'s A+ Parenting, Nottpott, POV Theodore Nott, but also a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitherwaywill/pseuds/whitherwaywill
Summary: Theo knows love isn't real. It's just a plaything, a pastime, a weapon that can manipulate people all too well. After Draco succumbs to desire and calls it love, Theo finds himself pulled into an entirely new circle - one where love is the most powerful magic of all. As it becomes harder and harder to cling to his cynicism, Theo begins to wonder... if love is real, what is it?
Relationships: Daphne Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Series: what you mean to me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756351
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	1. a masquerade of desire

It starts like this: Draco falls in love. 

He invites Theo out to lunch, and sits him down. Theo hates the food at the Leaky Cauldron, and Draco knows this. 

It’s the only place in Diagon Alley that will serve them, though, and Draco wants to have this conversation in public. 

When their drinks come, Draco takes a sip, and sets it down firmly. He clears his throat, and tells Theo that his secret girlfriend isn’t going to be a secret anymore. 

“I love her,” he says, with all the pompous dramatism Theo has grown accustomed to over the years. 

Theo silently listens as Draco waxes poetic about his girlfriend’s charms - her intelligence, her stubbornness, her utter  _ Gryffindor-ness… _

Of course Draco would fall in love with a Gryffindor. In true Malfoy style, he wasn’t even satisfied with a quiet, unobtrusive Gryffindor. He had to go with the queen of the Gryffindors, the loudest, most obnoxious…

_ Was it easy, _ Theo wonders,  _ for Draco to convince himself he was in love with her? _

This is the difference between them: Draco is a romantic at heart, but Theo knows the truth. 

Theo knows that love is a trick, love is a farce, love is a lie. But Draco hasn’t figured it out yet, and he doesn’t appreciate Theo’s truth. 

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you.” He shakes his head, disappointed in Theo. “My mother is having a luncheon, for everyone to meet her. You’re invited. Try not to let your cynicism poison it.”

Draco stands, and Draco leaves - leaves Theo behind. 

That’s okay. Theo is used to being left behind. Draco probably imagines he’s leaving Theo behind in other ways, too - leaving his childish hatred of emotion behind, as he advances into mature adulthood. 

That’s okay, too. Draco knows that after his little adventure in love, Theo will be right where he left him. 

Theo will be there to pick up the pieces, once this pretension inevitably explodes. 


	2. luncheon battles

Narcissa’s luncheon is really, truly terrible, in a way that makes Theo want to laugh hysterically. 

All of Draco’s friends were invited, along with her own allies. Narcissa holds court with Mrs. Greengrass by her side, weaving amongst all of her venerable guests.

Theo walks into the garden with Blaise, who he met at the door. They exchange a look, and immediately go in search of Draco. 

He’s not in the garden. Nor is his bushy-haired girlfriend. Theo is surprised. If Draco asked for a luncheon like this, surely he isn’t hiding away - not with all the available influence to pander to. 

Theo and Blaise, in unspoken accord, slip into the Manor, heading towards Draco’s favorite sitting room. When they get there, the door is cracked, and they can hear Draco’s voice. 

“Don’t make trouble,” Blaise cautions, a hand on Theo’s arm. 

Theo shrugs him off with a wicked grin. Blaise should know by now that trouble is all Theo lives for. 

“...I know this isn’t what you wanted,” Draco is saying. “I tried to make Mother understand, but you know how she is…”

“Does she?” Theo can’t help but interrupt, swaggering into the room. Blaise follows, rolling his eyes. 

“I told you not to make trouble,” he mutters. Theo shrugs. 

“Granger,” he greets Draco’s paramour, kissing her hand. She snatches it away; the only reason he was able to take it, he reasons, was because she was unprepared. He smirks. 

Unprepared. That is exactly what she is. 

“Nott,” Granger says warily. 

He bows. “A pleasure, as always.” Turning to Draco, his smirk widens. “What’s the matter, mate? Thought you’d be in the center of your party, the way -”

“Enough, Theo,” Draco rubs the bridge of his nose. “This was _not_ what I had planned.”

“Isn’t it?” Theo’s smirk grows even bigger, but his eyes are hard. “You mean, you didn’t plan to present your potential bride to high society at an elegant soiree?”

Draco growls. He looks like he’s two thoughts away from shoving Theo. Granger is clinging to his arm. 

Theo takes a step back - right into Blaise, who’s at his shoulder, where he always is. Draco had Crabbe and Goyle, but Theo always had Blaise - the best of the three. 

“An elegant soiree?” A new voice asks. “Is that what this is?”

Theo turns, his eyes narrowing. Potter steps out of the shadows, grinning. 

Blaise steadies him, moving to the side as Theo takes another involuntary step back.

“What’s this?” Theo gasps, only half-faking the horror. “Malfoy - you invited the _Savior_ into your home?”

“He’s Hermione’s friend,” Draco snaps, “and you _will_ be civil, Theo.”

“Will I?” Theo resists the urge to sneer. “This is dull. Where are Pansy and Daphne, Draco? They bring all the fun.”

“I - they weren’t invited.” Draco looks guilty, darting a glance at his girlfriend out of the corner of his eye. 

Theo stiffens. “I see.”

The weight of a thousand judgements is in those two words, and Draco shifts under the burden. 

“Should we go back to the party?” Blaise says. He’s nervous, not that you could tell from his demeanor. 

Theo can tell. Theo knows Blaise. On the other hand, Blaise also knows Theo, and Blaise knows Theo is about to erupt. 

“You can, if you like,” Theo says, his eyes narrowed. “Bring us back some drinks.”

Blaise rolls his eyes. “I’m going to get myself some drinks,” he says. “You all can get your own.”

He darts out of the room. Potter is staring at Theo, a strange look on his face - one that Theo doesn’t like. It looks like curiosity, like intrigue. 

It looks like danger. 

Theo erases Potter from his notice. 

He turns on Draco. “I feel honoured, truly,” Theo says, slick and sweet. “I am eternally grateful to be one of few who can continue to claim your friendship, now that you have _moved up_ in the world.” 

He bows to Hermione, every inch of his body mocking. 

“It’s not like that, Theo.” Draco looks sick to his stomach, and Theo realises that his attack is just one more thing in a day that’s already not going Draco’s way. 

Theo doesn’t care. 

“Are you happy, then?” Theo turns his ire on Hermione. “You get a boyfriend free of previous attachments, one to lavish all his attention on you, to -”

“No! That’s not what I want.” Hermione’s face is hard, horrified, and he remembers that back in Hogwarts, he admired this girl for her spine of steel. 

Draco finally gives into the urge to hit Theo, and he finds himself suddenly shoved up against the wall. “You don’t talk to her like that,” he breaths, every word a threat. 

Theo bares his teeth in some semblance of a grin. “Am I wrong?”

“Of course you’re wrong!” Potter defends Hermione. “Hermione would never -”

“You’re wrong.” Hermione interrupts Potter. It’s possible she didn’t even hear him speak; she’s glaring at Theo with singular intent. 

She reaches for Draco, and pulls him off Theo. Theo doesn’t break eye contact with her, and remains against the wall, his clothes rumpled, not brushing himself off and putting himself to rights. No matter how much he wants to. 

“You’re wrong,” Granger repeats, taking a deep breath. She takes Draco’s hands in hers, looking up at him. “I agree that this _luncheon_ isn’t what we hoped for. But Draco, I don’t want you to cut out your friends for my sake. I don’t.” 

Theo watches all Draco’s pointy, sharp edges soften, looking at Granger. He looks away in disgust, and accidentally makes eye contact with Potter.

He sneers. Potter jolts back a step, caught, and looks away. 

“Let’s go to the Leaky,” Granger proposes. “Floo Daphne and Pansy, and invite them - and any of your other friends. You had a life before me. Let me know it.”

Draco looks nervous, and when he glances back at Theo, Theo can’t help but grin. 

Daphne and Pansy in the same place are always chaotic. Daphne, Pansy, and Theo in the same place are overwhelming. 

Draco’s already crumbling, giving in to Hermione’s demand. 

Theo feels a rush of adrenaline. He catches Potter’s eye again, and this time his smirk is full of suppressed excitement and adrenaline. 

_This will be fun._


	3. Luxe

Theo puts his foot down. 

He reminds Draco that he hates the Leaky Cauldron, and so do Daphne and Pansy - besides which, the Leaky Cauldron doesn’t serve any fun drinks. 

He bothers Draco so much about it, and when Draco floos Pansy’s house, she and Daphne join in. Finally, worn down, he gives in. 

“You choose the bar,” he sighs. “Nothing too skeevy, alright?”

Theo grins, knife-sharp, at Pansy in the Floo. “Luxe?”

“Luxe.”

They’re all there within the hour. Pansy and Daphne have gone with ‘less is more’ outfits, each showing as much skin as possible. Their hands are intertwined as they swing up to Theo, where he’s waiting with Draco and Blaise. 

“So?” Pansy asks, looking around. “I was promised entertainment. Where’s the girlfriend?”

“Not here yet,” Draco says stiffly. “She and Potter are meeting us.”

“Potter?” Pansy’s eyes narrow dangerously. Daphne melds herself to her girlfriend’s side, slipping a warning glance at Theo. 

Theo grins, bumping her shoulder. “Draco didn’t tell you? The mystery girlfriend is Hermione Granger.”

Pansy mimes throwing up. Blaise snickers. “My thoughts exactly,” he says, exchanging a conspiratory look with Theo. They’re standing close, closer than they usually do. 

Theo will probably take Blaise home tonight. 

“She’s probably not all that bad,” Daphne says, delicately wrinkling her nose. “Once you get past that hair.”

“Those teeth,” Pansy says. 

“The manners,” Theo puts in. Blaise raises his hand in the air, waving it around and jumping up and down. They all snicker. 

“Yes, very funny,” Draco sneers. He’s more uppity tonight than usual. Theo knows he’s nervous - nervous that it won’t go well, and his friends will chase Hermione away. “Have you got it out of your system?”

“Not quite,” Theo grins. Over Draco’s shoulder, he sees Granger and Potter appear. A devious smirk slides onto his face. 

Blaise steps in, flashing a warning glance at Theo. One hand is over Pansy’s mouth. Her eyes sparkle wickedly. For some odd reason, Blaise also wants tonight to go well. 

“We’ll save it for tomorrow,” he says. “After we find new things to make fun of - things that aren’t a holdover from our school days.”

Hermione is smiling nervously, giving Draco a peck on the lips and gamely greeting Pansy and Daphne. Theo doesn’t give her a second thought.

Potter is observing his surroundings. He’s not on edge, but he’s not integrating himself into the group (or trying to) the way Hermione is. He’s - he’s staring at Theo. Again.

Theo curls his lip. “Let’s go in,” he directs, ignoring Hermione’s attempt to say hello. 

He needs a drink. 

At the door, Goyle, Luxe’s bouncer, nods at Pansy, then Draco. He raises an eyebrow at Granger and Potter. 

“They’re with me,” Pansy says, waving a hand. They march into the club, uninterrupted. 

Potter and Granger are enraptured, the moment they step in. _A common reaction,_ Theo thinks. He knows that he gaped like a commoner the first time Pansy unveiled her creation. 

Pansy snarls when she glances at the band playing. “They should have finished their set ten minutes ago.”

Daphne strokes her arm. “Don’t worry,” she says. “It’s not like there’s anyone important following them.”

“Why would she worry?” Hermione asks, ignorantly. The question is directed at Draco, but the entire group hears it. 

“You didn’t know?” Pansy giggles. “This is my club.”

Hermione is astonished, gawking around her. “This is - Pansy, this is amazing!”

Theo groans internally. There it is. Hermione’s won Pansy over, and Daphne won’t be far behind. 

He nudges Draco. “If she hurts them,” he murmurs, “I will hold you responsible.”

Draco narrows his eyes at Theo, shrugging him off and wrapping an arm around Hermione’s shoulders. 

Theo falls back, making a beeline for the bar. He grabs two firewhiskeys - one for him, one for Blaise. The others can fend for themselves. 

Pansy has used her cachet as proprietor to commandeer a booth large enough for ten people, and everyone crowds in. 

Draco and Hermione have taken over one corner, Hermione and Daphne chatting a mile a minute. Blaise slides in next to Pansy and Daphne. Potter stands at the edge, surveying the club. His eyes catch Theo’s, as Theo approaches with the drinks. 

“Just two?” Potter asks, giving a pointed look to the drinks in Theo’s hands. He passes one off to Blaise, and takes a pointed sip of the other. 

“You’re a big boy,” Theo purrs. “You can get your own drink.” 

Potter rolls his eyes, a wry grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He melts into the crowd, ostensibly in search of his own drink. 

Theo slips in next to Blaise, tuning in to the conversation.

“...really amazing,” Hermione says. “I can’t believe I haven’t been here before.”

Theo snorts. “There’s a reason for that.”

Draco glares at him, but Pansy and Daphne both look like the cats who got the cream, or possibly a canary. 

“Oh?” Hermione glances between them uncertainly. “What’s that?”

“It’s a gay bar,” Pansy smirks. 

“Oh!” Hermione’s surprised, he can tell, but she covers it well. “And you two are…”

Daphne raises her and Pansy’s linked hands. “Together.”

“Ah.” Hermione smiles. “That’s great! How long?”

Theo tips back his drink, then sets the glass down with a clatter. 

“Where’s the Weasel, Granger?” he asks. 

Draco’s glare intensifies, and Pansy’s smile calcifies. Daphne looks down, and Blaise shoots him a reproving look. 

“Not here,” Granger evades, eyeing Theo. “It’s not exactly his scene.”

“Not exactly your scene, either,” Theo says, gesturing around. “Imagine if the Prophet got word of this.”

“No, we’re not going to _imagine,_ Theo,” Draco snaps. “Why don’t you go get another drink?”

Silence falls around the table, and Theo tenses. 

It’s his fault. It usually is. 

“I think I will,” he says. He leaves without fanfare, and spends the next half hour at the bar, downing drink after drink. He thinks he’s at number seven when he decides he needs a change of scenery. 

He dislodges a green-haired gentleman’s hand from his thigh, and weaves through the crowd, searching for the stairs that lead to the balcony. 

Theo trips up the stairs, his drink sloshing against the sides of the glass. He’ll need to go home soon, otherwise he might find himself waking up in a stranger’s bed. 

On first glance, the balcony appears empty. Theo runs a hand over one of the rich velvet curtains, taking a sip. From here, he can see the table where his friends are. 

Pansy and Daphne understand. They understand that love is just an excuse to find an attractive, agreeable person to share a life with. Blaise isn’t looking for love. 

Draco will drown himself in it, in the idea of love, if he is allowed. 

“Hey.” 

An intruder interrupts Theo’s reflection. He glances at them out of the corner of his eye. 

“Potter.”

“Nott,” Potter returns. “What are you doing up here?”

“What are you doing?” Theo retorts. Usually, this is a relatively safe place to be alone. 

“It’s crowded down there,” Potter says. “I needed...a minute.”

“It’s a Saturday night,” Theo says. 

Potter looks at him. It’s clear he has no idea what that means. 

Theo sighs. “No one has to work tomorrow,” he explains. “And the uppity purebloods stay home. Which means tonight is _fun.”_

Potter gazes down at the mosh pit, taking a sip of his butterbeer. Luxe has begun to devolve into its nightly debauchery, and people smash against each other, knocking elbows and head, shouts flying through the air. 

There’s always a violent element to Luxe, one that few seem to appreciate. 

“Find a partner, Potter,” Theo says. He giggles. “Partner, Potter. I like that.” 

Potter gives him a strange look. “This is a gay bar,” he points out. 

Theo shrugs. “So?”

“I’m not gay.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says slowly. 

“At least, I’m pretty sure I’m not,” Potter amends. 

“Okay.”

“I’m not,” Potter insists. “It was only that one time, and I - he had been drinking, I think, so…”

Theo sighs. He’s bored of this already. “Look, Potter, I’m not going to listen to your little crisis, or hold your hand through it. Either get over yourself, or get drunk enough that gender doesn’t matter.”

Potter huffs a laugh, running a hand through his hair. 

“That’s your advice, huh?”

Theo stares at him. His buzz is quickly fading; the more he talks to Potter, the more sober he gets. “This is boring. I’m bored.”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?” 

“I’m not in the habit of leaving,” Theo snaps. 

Potter is staring again. It’s unnerving, how whenever he’s present, Theo can always see the flash of green out of the corner of his eyes. 

“Is it only fun with a partner?” he asks, gesturing down at the club. 

Theo’s drink is gone, only drops left. He swirls them around the glass, watching them slide slowly. “Yes.”

Potter moves closer. Theo stills, his chin tilting the slightest bit. _Huh,_ he thinks. _Crisis averted - or solved._

“Then why are you here, talking to me?” Potter smirks. “When you could be down there, having _fun._ ”

“Because you were interesting,” Theo says. “But now you’re not, and I need another drink.”

“Liar.”

Theo is affronted. He stops abruptly on his way to the stairs, swiveling on his heel to face Potter. “Pardon?” His tone is pure vitriol; enough poison that when Potter steps forward, instead of flinching away, Theo is surprised. 

“I am interesting,” Potter says. “You wouldn’t have come to find me, if I weren’t.”

As he speaks, he backs Theo into the wall. He’s only a breath away. Theo can feel the heat from his body emanating off of him. 

“If you must know, I was banished from the table,” Theo says. “Apparently I was quite rude.”

“I’m interesting,” Potter repeats, “because I’m _interested._ In you. So are you - or you would have punched me ages ago.”

Theo is interested, interested in this abrupt flip between stuttering ingenue and the man who’s threatening to kiss him. 

“You’re confused,” Theo says, finally. He presses himself against the wall, resisting the urge to lean down and just _kiss_ him, get it out of his system. “I don’t punch people.”

“Yeah? What do you do?”

Theo wants to sneer, to hiss - Potter doesn’t know him. He doesn’t know how Theo gives people the slip - he doesn’t know that Theo doesn’t lie, that he _wouldn’t_ punch someone for getting too close. He _doesn’t know._

His green eyes are piercing, waiting for Theo’s answer. Theo lets out a long suffering sigh. 

_Fuck it._

Potter tastes like fire, like promises and secrets and untapped depths of desire. Theo can’t get enough, slamming him into the wall and devouring him.

It’s only when Potter makes a sound, a low, vulnerable sound, that Theo stops, and takes a step back. 

Potter tries to follow, his green eyes confused. Theo stares at him blankly. 

“Uh - what’re you doing?” Potter pants. 

Theo is not kissing him again. He steps away. 

“You’ve gotten over yourself,” he says, gesturing at the dance floor. “Now take your pick.”

Potter opens his mouth to speak. Theo cuts him off. 

“You will not pick me,” he says coldly. Potter’s mouth closes, and he’s watching Theo again, that strange, dangerous expression on his face. 

Theo turns away. If he doesn’t look, he doesn’t have to see it. 

He clatters down the steps, and fights his way towards the table that had been claimed. Conversation has already drawn to a halt, but it seems to have flourished and succeeded in Theo’s absence. Draco and Hermione are making out in the corner of the booth. Pansy and Daphne have disappeared, likely dancing. 

Blaise is near the edge of the booth, as far away from Draco and Hermione as he could be without abandoning the table. There’s a blond wizard chatting him up, sitting on the edge. 

Theo catches Blaise’s eye, and the blond is dismissed within the minute. Blaise stands, making his way over to Theo. He walks straight into Theo’s personal space, hands on his hips. 

“Are we leaving?” he breathes. 

“Yes,” Theo responds, and he drags Blaise down into a searing kiss, walking backwards towards the exit. 

Blaise is familiar. He knows how to make him _feel._ Theo kisses him and kisses him, like he can erase the memory of Potter’s lips on his. 

He wishes he could. 


	4. waking alone

Sunday morning, Theo’s hangover is horrendous, and he’s reminded of why he doesn’t go out drinking on Saturdays. 

Blaise is gone when he wakes up. The only thing that’s left to remind Theo he was there is the hangover potion on the bedside table, and a dent in a pillow. 

That’s normal. 

Theo imagines that Blaise doesn’t want to deal with Theo in the mornings. He’d probably had enough of Theo’s curmudgeonliness back at Hogwarts.

It’s okay. Theo’s used to waking up alone. 

He lays in bed, blinking up at the ceiling, for too long - so long that his eyes begin to dry out, and he can feel himself drifting in that not quite asleep, not quite awake, in-between-ness. 

Theo imagines he is dead. 

He imagines that if he died, no one would find him for quite a while. Draco is caught up in Hermione-land, and he wouldn’t surface in time to find Theo’s body before it began to rot. Blaise only comes over when Theo invites him, and if Theo’s dead, he won’t be able to give an invitation. 

Maybe Pansy and Daphne would find him. Of course, that would be the worst possible outcome. They’d probably dress him in some garish outfit or another, before they called the Aurors. 

Someone clears their throat. 

Theo doesn’t jump in fright, if only because he’s learned that showing your fear only gives power to the people who scare you. Instead, he slowly turns his head to the side, and blinks. 

Harry Potter is standing beside the bed. He holds out the potion that Blaise left behind expectantly. 

Theo blinks. 

“Er - Blaise let me in,” Harry says with a cough. “He said - anyway, here, drink this.”

He backs away. Theo sits up, swinging his legs out of the covers and over the side of the bed, pouring the potion down his throat. 

It’s comical how quickly Potter swivels on his heel, his face a flaming red, when he realises Theo is naked. 

“Prude,” Theo snorts, standing and walking over to his window en flagrante. Behind him, Potter shuffles around, and Theo knows without looking that Potter’s staring at his arse. 

It’s what Theo would do, after all, if the other person was parading themselves about. 

“What are you doing here?” he demands. 

“I’m supposed to invite you to play Quidditch,” Harry says, still ogling Theo’s backside. “With the Weasleys.”

“The _Weasleys.”_ Theo is shocked. He thought that the Malfoys and the Weasleys had a blood feud, or something of the sort.

“Yeah. Draco’s coming, and Hermione thought we ought to invite you, and Blaise…”

Theo whirls around, making no attempt to cover himself. Potter gapes, flushing. “Didn’t your mother teach you it wasn’t polite to stare?” 

Potter abruptly turns away. “My mother’s dead,” he says, as though that would shock Theo into being polite. Theo sneers.

“So’s mine.” His retort falls flat, and there’s a sudden silence that feels too full - the exact opposite of Nott Manor’s usual empty silence. Theo quickly pulls on some pants and a robe, feeling sick to his stomach. 

Potter clears his throat. “Quidditch?”

“I don’t fly.” Theo sinks onto the bed. The squeak of the mattress seems to make Potter think it’s okay to turn, and he does. 

His green eyes are searching, disgustingly earnest. “You could still come,” he says. “Get to know us.”

Theo watches him, his face devoid of any emotion. He feels tired, just thinking about it - thinking about going to the Weasleys, and fending off all their questions while trying to be Draco’s rock, because the Weasleys are not easy for him, Theo imagines. 

Potter watches him back. He’s not pleading; he’s just waiting for Theo to answer. 

_If I say no,_ Theo thinks, _he’ll leave. He’ll leave me alone._

That’s okay. Theo’s used to being left. He’s been left by people far more important to him than Potter. 

The silence stretches on for far longer than is comfortable, and they’re still caught in a staring contest. 

Draco would have left by now, used to Theo’s obstinance and contrariness. Blaise would have left by now, knowing Theo wasn’t planning on talking any more. 

Potter is still here. 

The Weasleys may be exhausting, but right now, Theo can think of nothing more tiring than remaining here with Potter’s gaze burning through him. 

He wrinkles his nose. 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Let me get properly dressed.”


	5. walking into the lion's den

Theo is bored, and he vaguely hates everyone around him. 

Mrs. Weasley is inside, preparing the brunch, simultaneously guilting her children into wanting to help, then refusing their aid. The domesticity disgusts him. Theo got out of the kitchen as soon as possible, after Potter introduced him to the matriarch. 

All of the invitees and hoards of Weasley children are on the back lawn. 

Theo stands under a tree, drinking the alcoholic swill Potter pushed upon him, before heading off to play with a blue-haired child. Tonks, Theo presumes. 

Draco is on Hermione’s arm, laughing and chatting with the surviving twin and Ron. Theo doesn’t know when Draco became so buddy-buddy with Weasley - he’s shocked, especially considering Draco is dating Ron’s ex. 

The Veela and the cursebreaker move around the yard, following their toddling daughter. Theo is vaguely interested in the child. 

It must be interesting, to have both veela and werewolf blood. 

“Theo.”

Blaise’s voice startles him. “Blaise,” he greets his friend mildly. “What are you doing here?”

“I was invited,” Blaise says warily, “as I presume you were.”

Theo imagines Blaise thinks Theo is crashing, that he piggy-backed off of Draco’s invitation, probably against Draco’s will. 

Theo doesn’t answer, not right away. Instead, he takes a sip of the swill. He watches Potter approach over the top of his glass. The blue-haired child is blue-haired no more - he is now a miniature version of Potter, slung under one arm. The child giggles uncontrollably.

“Potter dragged me out of my bed,” he finally says when Potter is in earshot. “Naked.”

Blaise raises his eyebrows. “I’m intrigued.”

“It’s not my fault you were naked,” Potter defends himself, the child swinging off one of his arms. 

“Naked?” The child grins up at Potter mischievously, tugging at his clothes. 

“Anyway, you’re here now,” Potter says, hastily changing the subject. “Teddy, this is Theo Nott. He’s terribly prickly, so best you run along and find your Nannie.”

“No!” The child’s wail is impossibly loud, and Theo winces. “I want a broom ride!” 

“We can do that later,” Potter promises. “I have to entertain Nott, now, so why don’t you…”

“You said later yesterday!”

Theo and Blaise exchange a glance as Potter flounders. 

Theo can’t think how Potter could entertain him better than this. 

The child’s cries are well past annoying before Theo decides to intervene. His hangover from the night before is clearly not as gone as he had thought. 

“Here,” Theo offers Teddy a wand. “Why don’t you go ask Uncle George how this works?”

The child’s eyes are wide, and they handle the trick wand reverently. Only a light touch on Potter’s shoulder from Blaise stopped him from snatching the wand out of Teddy’s hands. 

Teddy runs off, waving the wand experimentally in the air. He shrieks with delight when a few sparks fountain from the top. 

Potter’s shoulders relax at the sparks. “I - where did you find a trick wand?” he gapes at Theo, gobsmacked. Blaise snickers at his expression, but Theo just watches Teddy run away impassively. 

“It was inside,” he explains. “I nicked it. Did you really think I’d hand a child a real wand?”

Potter examines him. “No,” he says eventually. “Probably not.”

He turns to Blaise. “You should’ve told me you were coming,” he says. “I could’ve just told you to bring Nott with you, instead of dragging him out of bed myself.”

Blaise shrugged. “The dragging was probably more fun for both of you.”

“I’m scarred for life, thanks.” Potter reddens, darting little glances at Theo.

Theo smirks. 

Ginny appears behind, leaning her elbow on his shoulder. She manages to look insouciantly comfortable, despite the fact that his shoulder is at least a foot above her own. Theo is impressed. 

“Nott,” she says. 

“Weaslette,” he responds. The nickname hisses out of his mouth, and he hates the sound. 

Her grin doesn’t fade. “How did you get here?”

“I brought him,” Harry butts in. 

Ginny raises an eyebrow at him, her cat-like grin broadening. Theo is acutely reminded of a lioness preparing to pounce. 

“It was Hermione’s idea,” Potter says defensively. 

Theo takes a sip of his drink, tuning them out. Of course, it was Granger’s idea. 

The others are slowly migrating over to Theo’s tree. Granger and Draco lead the way, Ron shuffling behind them. 

That vague hatred inside Theo rears its ugly head, and he can feel the poison building up inside of him. 

He imagines himself exploding all over everyone here, scorching them with his vile insides. 

Moments like this, Theo wishes Pansy were here - even though that would have been a clusterfuck, it would have been an amazing clusterfuck, and he would have had some entertainment. A distraction from the fact that Draco and Hermione are now here, chatting, with the Weasel integrating himself behind him. 

Potter is watching Theo again. 

Theo sneers. 

A mistake, as it turns out. 

“What’s your problem, Nott?” Weasley mistakenly thinks that Theo was scowling at him. As if Theo would waste time and effort on Ron Weasley. 

“I have many problems,” Theo says smoothly. Draco glares pointedly at him. Theo considerately shuts up. 

Unfortunately, Weasley doesn’t. “Yeah? Well, if we’re one of your problems, maybe you should just leave.”

Theo cocks his head to the side, and the rest of the group falls silent. Over Hermione’s head, Draco is desperately shaking his head at Theo. 

_No,_ he mouths. _Theo, no._

Theo imagines he recognizes the look on his face. 

“Ron -” Hermione starts nervously. 

“I don’t care to talk about my problems,” Theo says. “As it happens, I don’t have a problem with anyone here.”

“Theo,” Draco warns. Blaise shifts at Theo’s shoulder, but Theo can’t tell if he’s allying himself with Theo or Draco. 

“Let’s talk about your problem,” Theo addresses Weasley. “Clearly, you have a lot of pent up anger - probably due to the fact that my friend Draco here is dating your ex. Since you can’t take it out on Draco without angering Hermione, you’ve decided that I am a suitable scapegoat in order to continue your ridiculous vendetta against Slytherins and your childhood nemesis.”

Silence envelopes the entire group, Theo’s words ringing between them. Weasley was growing an unpleasant shade of red. 

“Well,” Potter says, before Weasley could explode, “Draco was more my nemesis, than Ron’s.” He chuckles awkwardly. 

No one speaks. 

Theo takes another sip of the swill. 

A call from inside the house distracts them - the meal is ready. Weasley peels off right away, Potter going after him. Ginny follows them, and Hermione pats Draco on the shoulder, glancing quickly at Theo before joining her.

Blaise hesitates, glancing between Draco and Theo. 

Draco is glaring daggers at Theo. Theo stares back impassively. 

He’s happy to be the villain here, even if his insides feel shaky, and he’s having trouble staying on his feet. 

He can’t forget the shocked look on Potter’s face, after he went after Weasley.

“Right.” Blaise clears his throat. “Well, I’m going in. Try not to kill each other; that’d make Hermione unhappy, Draco.” With that, he abandons Theo to his fate. 

That’s okay. Theo can handle Draco. 

Draco gestures for Theo to walk with him, across the yard, towards the house. 

“What, no scolding?” Theo can’t help but ask, even though every fibre of his being tells him baiting Draco is a bad idea. 

He can’t walk in that house. 

They’re almost to the door, when Theo draws breath again, his mind scrambling for something offensive to say - something to set Draco off. Something Theo can look back on, and use to say _I told you so_ once this blows up in Draco’s face. 

Draco lunges, stopping him before he can speak. 

“You need to stop.” Draco’s hand is squeezing his shoulder, and Theo knows that Draco is dying to wag a finger in his face. 

It’s a familiar feeling, this sense of uselessness - the bitter taste inside his mouth. 

“What for?” he asks. “I’m having fun.”

Draco forcibly regains control of himself. “Well, Hermione’s not,” he says. “If you make one more snide comment, I’ll help Weasley kick you out.”

Theo shrugs Draco’s hand off his shoulder, and resists the urge to punch him in the side. 

He imagines Draco thinks he’s threatening Theo, that Theo would be hurt if Draco sided with Weasley, of all people. 

Theo knows that this is just one more example of how far Draco is willing to go, in order to be loved. 

Lucius fucked his son up. 

Draco gives Theo one more minute to repent, then shakes his head, entering the lion’s den. Theo stays outside, staring at the door for a minute. 

Hot air blows out from inside, carrying with it chattering voices and the clatter of dishes. 

Theo turns on his heel, and stalks away decisively. He apparates out as soon as he’s past the wards. 

Draco will have to forgive him for leaving. 


	6. drunk shenanigans

Theo is going to get drunk. 

Somehow, the swill he was served at the Weasleys failed to even get him buzzed. 

He digs through his alcohol cabinet, and unearths an appropriately aged bottle of firewhiskey. Contemplating it, he grabs a second, and a third, and retreats to his study. 

The elves have left out a dinner tray for him, with a copy of the Daily Prophet on the top. Theo settles onto the sofa, lighting a fire with a flick of his wand. 

The Prophet’s headline is depressing: War Orphans at Disadvantage. 

It’s got equally depressing pictures of sad children running with it. 

Theo drains half a bottle. 

He imagines himself among those orphans. He’s too old, of course, but his parents _are_ dead - or at least gone, in his father’s case. 

Good riddance, that. 

He’s staring up at the ceiling again, cuddling his bottle, when the door creaks. 

Theo’s up before he even consciously thinks about it, wand aimed at the door. The bottle falls out of his arms, shattering on the floor. 

“Er - hi.” Potter is standing in the doorway, pushing the door open all the way. He nervously nudges his glasses up his nose.

“Hiya,” Theo responds, faux-cheerfully. Adrenaline is buzzing through his veins. He’s primed for a fight, and he’s not quite ready to let that fight go yet. His wand is aimed steadily at Potter, for all that Theo lists to the side, his balance uncertain. “What’re you doing here, then?”

“You know your house has basically no wards, right?” Potter asks. His hands are raised warily in face of Theo’s wobbly dueling stance. “How do you sleep at night? There’s literally nothing stopping _anyone_ from strolling right in.”

Theo contemplates Potter’s words for a minute, then he has to concede that he’s right with a grunt, pocketing his wand. He returns to his bottle of firewhisky, and the maudlin orphanage article. 

“Er…” Potter stutters, uncertainly hovering in the doorway. “Do you want me to get someone to come fix up your wards?”

Theo lazily stretches his arm along the back of the couch, leaning back to eye Potter. “I could do it if I wanted to.”

Potter looks mildly shocked, and possibly intrigued. Theo is interested - rather, Theo’s dick is interested. 

Theo takes another swig of his firewhisky. He isn’t nearly drunk enough to be considering fucking Potter. 

He imagines Potter thinks that he should put up more complicated wards.

“You don’t want to?”

Huh. Theo was right. These Gryffindors, so predictable. 

“There is nothing in this forsaken mansion worth protecting,” Theo says indifferently. “And I can’t put up wards to block the Ministry from sticking their nosy noses in everywhere.”

Nosy noses. For Merlin’s sake. 

“They still come around?” Potter is indignant on Theo’s behalf. 

“Not so much anymore,” Theo shrugs. “I’ve cleared the house of all ‘dark artifacts’, and I’m the model citizen.” He sneers at Potter. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“You disappeared before we ate,” Potter says. “I was worried.”

Theo raises his eyebrows. 

Once a hero, always a hero, he guesses, even in the strangest of ways. 

“Draco kicked me out,” he says. 

Potter raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Well,” Theo considers it. “Not really.” 

_Go away, Theo,_ had been implied, but Draco hadn’t flat out told him to leave. 

The fact that Theo had decided to take it the way he had probably had more to do with the Weasleys than Malfoy.

Potter shifts uncomfortably in the doorway. “I thought Draco might have scared you off. Or Ron might’ve.”

“I’m Draco’s attack dog,” Theo says, ignoring the ridiculous implication that Ron Weasley had the ability to frighten _anyone_. “The mutt trained to bite at his command. Crabbe and Goyle, but smarter. He doesn’t like when I don’t obey.”

Potter raises his eyebrows again. They’ve been in a permanent state of incredulity, almost since he started talking to Theo. 

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Potter says. “You’re friends.”

Theo just blinks at him.

Potter clearly hasn’t spent much time around Slytherin politics. 

“This is boring,” Theo decides. “I’m bored. Let’s go outside.” He picks up the two bottles that weren’t shattered when Potter abruptly appeared, and pushes past Potter, heading for the back patio. 

Potter trails behind him, not even pausing when Theo dives through the underbrush. 

“Why do you hang around Malfoy, if you’re not friends?”

“Company, mostly.” Theo’s a little distracted, trying to pick out the best spot to lie down and continue getting thoroughly soused. “No one else is lining up for the task. Son of a Death Eater and all.”

“You’re not that bad.”

“You don’t know me.” Theo picks out a spot, downhill from where they are, leading to the stream that runs across the back of his property. “I was raised with dark magic, see. So I must be evil, and invariably a bad person.”

“I don’t think you’re a bad person,” Potter, inexplicably, objects. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Theo says, tripping down the hill. “I know who I am. It’s no use making other people deny it.”

“You’re not, though,” Potter says, following. “You’re not just the son of a Death Eater.”

Theo stops at the edge of the river on his property. Behind him, Potter almost tumbles in, not expecting the sudden stop. 

“I am,” Theo says. “And I’ve done nothing to rectify it. Therefore, I deserve all of the criticism that comes my way.” He opens the bottles, and passes one to Potter. “Let’s drink.”

Potter doesn’t pursue the subject, thankfully, choosing instead to just drink. 

“I don’t think this is particularly healthy,” he remarks. “Drinking two nights in a row.”

Theo shrugs. “Do you care?”

There’s a long silence, and he can feel Potter watching him. Finally, Potter says, “No.”

“It’s day drinking, anyway,” Theo says, throwing himself onto the grass. “Not technically two nights in a row. Look. The sun’s still out.”

“Not for long,” Potter says. He’s right - the sun is already an angry, melting orange ball over the treetops. 

Theo squints. He must’ve gotten drunker than he had thought back at the house, if he’s thinking of the fading light in terms of melting balls. 

He raises his bottle of firewhiskey, and clinks the top against Potter’s. Potter glances from his bottle to Theo with a charmingly bemused look on his face. 

Ugh. _Charmingly._ Theo _is_ drunk. 

“So, we just… drink?” Potter asks, shifting awkwardly. 

Theo stretches out on the grass, watching Potter with half-lidded eyes. Potter’s cheeks are turning an interesting shade of red, the longer he looks. “Yes,” he answers the question simply. 

They sit, and drink. Theo makes a forcible effort to keep his mouth shut, and avoid exposing Potter to his more maudlin side. 

Those war orphans. Fuck. 

And Draco sided with Weasley over Theo. Why the fuck would he do that? 

Theo’s sure that if he were less inebriated, he would be able to come up with a plausible and possibly reasonable explanation for Draco’s betrayal. It’s probable that he already has; he’s just lost it, along with his sobriety. 

Potter drinks quietly beside him, keeping up with Theo sip for sip. Every time he raises the bottle to his lips, he shifts closer, until there’s only a scant inch of grass between them. 

Huh. Well, Theo’s been a bit bored, getting drunk on his own. And it does seem that they’ve been sidling towards hopping in bed together, Theo thinks. 

Theo imagines he’s Potter’s walk on the Dark side, as it were, no matter how factual that may be. Still, Potter’s attractively flushed, and from the way he makes eye contact with Theo every time he wraps his lips around the bottle…

Why not?

“I want to kiss you,” Theo says. He is very, very drunk, and everything has a warm, mellow glow.

Potter squints. “You _did_ kiss me,” he reminds Theo. “Then you stopped. Why’d you stop?”

“Because I didn’t want to.” The truth spills out of Theo unasked for, unbidden. He moves closer to Potter, their faces almost touching. “Because I never wanted to stop.”

Theo stops, an inch away. Their breath mingles together, smelling of firewhisky and fine elf wine. 

“Then don’t,” Potter whispers. “Don’t stop.”

That’s all Theo needs, all Theo wants. 

They tumble over each other, on the grass. One moment Theo is on top, pinning Potter to the ground, and the next Potter is on top, his hands impossibly gentle in Theo’s hair. 

_Don’t stop,_ Theo breathes, Theo hears in their beating hearts, somehow combining into one sound. 

_Don’t stop,_ he hears in Harry’s gasps, hot breath on his skin. 

_Don’t stop,_ he wants to plead, to beg. 

_Don’t stop._

He tries not to think about how much it will hurt when it stops. 

He tries not to think about how it will feel to wake up alone. 


	7. waking together

It starts like this: Theo sleeps with Harry, and Harry spends the night, and Harry is still there when Theo wakes up the next morning. 

The feeling of a warm body curled up next to his is alien. He gazes up at the ceiling, not giving in to the urge to turn on his side and stare. 

He can’t believe Harry is still there. He’s used to nights with Blaise, where they fall asleep on opposite sides of the bed, and Theo is alone come morning. He’s not used to this – to the arm slung across his stomach, to the man burrowed into the pillow beside him. 

Theo is _warm_. He’s used to the chill of the manor he grew up in, a cold that hurt the back of his teeth and made warmth feel like an impossible dream. 

He imagines Harry is a small sun, glowing next to him and emanating warmth, chasing away the shadows and cold and _emptiness_ of Nott Manor…

Theo shuts down that line of thought before it can get too far. Harry will leave, as soon as he wakes up. Harry will leave, and he won’t come back. 

Chosen Ones don’t belong in beds with disenchanted ex-villains. 

Harry shifts beside him, and Theo tenses.

“Hey,” Harry mutters, lifting his head off of the pillow. Theo finally gives in, and turns his head to look. 

Red crease lines spider across Harry’s cheek, and his hair is even more of a nightmare than usual. He blinks at Theo, and without his glasses, his eyes are greener than Theo could possibly imagine. 

“Hey,” Theo echoes, his voice hoarse. He’s not used to talking first thing in the morning. 

Harry sits up, the sheets pooling in his lap, wincing at the bright strands of sunlight that creep through the window. “Shite – what time is it?”

“Does it matter?” Theo doesn’t see why it would. As far as he knows, they’re both independently wealthy… wait, that’s not right…

“A little bit, yeah,” Harry says. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Right. Auror.” Theo knew that. 

He doesn’t bother sitting up, just tucking an arm under his head and looking up at Harry. Harry doesn’t seem willing to leave just yet, sitting and gazing right back at Theo. 

“Well?” Theo prompts. _Are you going to leave,_ he doesn’t ask. 

Harry _looks_ at him. “Why did you leave yesterday?”

Of course it would all come back to that – to the reason Harry showed up on Theo’s figurative doorstep in the first place. “I didn’t leave. I made a tactical retreat.”

“Liar.”

“I don’t lie,” Theo says, “and I don’t leave.”

“No,” Harry agrees. “You just push everyone away with your truth.”

Theo’s not going to acknowledge that, not going to argue with it. He imagines it’s true enough. That’s probably why Draco abandoned him. “Everyone leaves,” he says. “Some just leave sooner than others.”

“I’m not going to leave,” Harry says decisively. 

Theo gives him a _look_. “You will,” he says. “Eventually.” Harry will leave within the hour, Theo is sure of it. 

Sitting and staring is getting boring, and Harry’s gaze is making Theo’s skin itch. He hops out of bed, and walks towards the bathroom. “Everyone does,” he continues, starting the shower. “I’m too much to handle.”

Harry’s bare feet pad across the floor. When Theo looks back, he’s leaning in the doorway, watching as Theo gets in the shower. 

“Well,” he drawls, “I suppose I should be leaving. I’ve got to get to work.”

Theo snorts. “Yes, go save the day, Auror Chosen One.”

Harry just grins, disappearing back into the bedroom. He doesn’t call out a goodbye, and Theo doesn’t either. 

The water pounds down on Theo’s skin, its heat slowly numbing him. He knows that when he gets out, when he goes back into his bedroom, Harry will be gone. All that will remain will be a dent in the pillow, and maybe a hangover potion. 

That’s okay. _That’s okay._

Theo is used to being left. 

Theo spends the day racketing about his big, empty Manor, and trying to stay out of the house elves’ way. By some miracle, he manages to avoid the liquor until the light starts fading. 

He’s just popped open a bottle of Ogden’s when someone clears their throat. 

Harry, inexplicably, is back. “Have you started without me?”

Theo tosses the open bottle at him without warning. He’s battling between the fizzing, excited feeling in his chest and confusion. Doesn’t Harry Potter have better things to do than bother Theo?

“There,” he says, gesturing to the bottle in Harry’s hand. “Now I’m starting _with_ you.”

Harry makes a face. “You know, it’s not a good idea to drink on an empty stomach.”

Theo can’t be bothered to respond to that inane comment. He pours himself a generous glass, not breaking eye contact with Harry. 

Harry refuses to react, simply smirking at Theo. “Pour me one?”

Theo freezes, his eyes darting up to the wall of glasses displayed in the case in front of him. He can’t very well say no; can’t very well say that he’s only ever used one glass, that the others are dusty and old and tainted and _his father’s,_ that he always drinks alone –

He slowly extracts a second glass, this one plain and unadorned. He _scourgifys_ it (just in case) and pours Harry a glass. 

Their fingers brush when he hands it over. Harry meets his eyes, and Theo wills himself to hide his wariness, to hide that strange, fizzy feeling that washes over him every time he looks at Harry. 

Harry raises his glass. 

“Cheers,” he says, and they drink. 


	8. staying steady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Is A D*ck

A week later, Harry still hasn’t left, and Theo can’t figure out _why._

He’s there in the mornings, kissing Theo quickly before he disappears to work, then he’s back in the evenings, to eat an unhealthy amount of food and drink copious amounts of the finest firewhiskey Theo’s father could procure. 

It’s strange, to say the least. 

Theo is used to being left alone, especially after a momentous fuck-up like brunch at the Burrow. He’s used to his friends backing away, giving him space that always feels colder than usual. He knows Blaise never means for it to be cold; Blaise always worries about invading Theo’s space, about upsetting him, like he’s still a fragile ten-year-old with a murderer for a father. 

Draco always means for it to be cold. He has a talent for finding the white-hot pressure points that can hurt people the most, even if he doesn’t realise it. Even if he thinks he’s just expressing his displeasure with Theo.

Theo had expected a good month being left alone. Harry’s presence is bemusing and confusing and Theo cannot for the life of him figure out why Harry keeps coming _back._

Theo feels like he’s on suspiciously solid ground, ground that could give way any moment to the shifting sands below, familiar sands that Theo has drowned in before. 

If he could just work out _why…_

Draco’s menace of an owl chooses that moment to dive bomb Theo’s window, crashing through and scratching Theo’s shoulder with its razor-sharp talons. There’s a letter attached to its leg, because of course there is, and Draco manages to convey what a monumental fuck-up and disappointment as a friend Theo is while still, technically, being polite. 

He wants to meet at the Leaky Cauldron, so Theo can apologize in person to Granger, and ‘heal the rifts in their friendship in person’. 

Theo has never, _ever_ pretended to be anything less than hostile acquaintances with Granger.

Harry finds him with Draco’s letter, his hands folding and unfolding the parchment. He leans against the doorframe, observing, and for a moment Theo _hates_ that this is familiar. 

“What’s that?”

“Letter from Draco,” Theo answers tersely. “He wants to meet for lunch. At the Merlin damned Leaky Cauldron.”

“You don’t like the Leaky?”

“Fucking hate it,” Theo snarls, and his hands clench, crumpling the parchment. He didn’t mean – he didn’t want – _he doesn’t want Harry to see him like this._

Harry pushes off the doorframe, walking over to Theo and gently prying the letter out of his hands. “So ask Malfoy to pick somewhere else.”

“Can’t,” Theo says. “This is my punishment.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up. “For what?”

“For being a dick at the Burrow.” Theo snorts. “Fuck. Maybe he’ll drag the Weasel – Weasley – down there too, and I can apologize in person.” Theo’s mouth twists around ‘apologize’ like the word is a lemon he’s biting into. 

“It wasn’t all your fault, though. Ron was - not being polite.”

“Doesn’t matter, does it? It upset Granger, so I’m naturally in the wrong.”

Harry’s lips flatten into a line. “Let me come with you,” he says, and it sounds less like a request than an order. Theo can see why all those little Aurors listen to him.

Theo slumps into the nearest chair, crumpling Draco’s too-courteous letter in his palm. “Fine.”

If he has a drink or two before he heads to the Leaky, who can judge?

Harry sits with him, but he doesn’t drink. 

It only occurs to Theo how beneficial it might be to have Harry on his side when they arrive at the Leaky, and Granger greets Potter, beaming.

“Harry! I didn’t know you would be coming. Did Draco invite you?” She stands up to give him a hug. Draco stays seated at their table, scowling at Theo. 

“No, Theo did,” Harry says, and confusion flickers across Granger’s features. 

“Oh! How… nice.” She clears her throat, sitting down and nodding at Theo with a hesitant smile. “Hello, Theo.”

“Granger.” The sharp jerk of his chin counts as a nod, he thinks. “Draco. Glad to see you’re not dead in a ditch, yet.”

“Ah, give it time,” Draco says, with narrowed eyes and a knife sharp smile. Theo doesn’t miss how Harry presses close to him, even though he’s got ample space on his half of the booth. He lets his hand rest on Harry’s thigh. Harry darts a glance at him, a small smile appearing and disappearing, but Theo just stares Draco down. 

Draco doesn’t look away. 

Theo knows right then that he’ll last maybe ten minutes at this table, max. Best to get it over with as soon as possible. 

“Granger,” he addresses the witch in question. “I apologise for my brutish behavior at your in-law’s – sorry, the Weasleys’ – brunch. It was inexcusable, and it won’t happen again.”

Granger has the nerve to look taken aback, as though he hadn’t been called to the Leaky with the express purpose of a forced apology. “Oh – thanks, Theo. It’s quite alright, please don’t worry yourself about it.”

“I won’t.” Theo grins at her, and Harry shifts closer at his side. Draco’s eagle-sharp eyes catch the movement. 

“How did Theo come across you, then?” he asks. Granger shoots him a _look,_ a _we’re not supposed to mention it_ look. 

Harry refuses to rise to Draco’s bait. “I’ve been around Nott Manor lately,” he says, and Theo would be proud of his neutral tone if he wasn’t busy plotting the quickest exit strategy. “Theo showed me your letter, by the way. Great handwriting.”

Granger raises an eyebrow, and Draco slings an arm across the booth behind her back. 

“Be careful, Potter,” he warns. “Theo doesn’t play by your rules. He makes his own.”

Draco slices his eyes towards Theo as he speaks. Theo’s hand tightens on Harry’s thigh without permission. He supposes that means Draco still hasn’t forgiven him for his behavior at the Weasleys’ brunch. 

He misses Harry’s shrug, but he hears him clear as day when he says, “I’ve never had a problem learning new rules.”

That’s an outrageous lie if Theo’s ever heard one, and he knows that Draco is aching to call Harry out, to start on one of his Potter rants about _Quidditch_ and _a dragon_ and _almost killing me in the girl’s bathroom._ He even opens his mouth, taking a deep breath, before one glance at Hermione deflates him. 

Theo snorts. He’s disgusted, and disappointed. The Draco he knew never would have let himself give Potter a break, not for a second. 

Granger is smiling nervously, and Draco is giving him the evil eye. Under the table, Harry’s hand brushes his, lightly resting on his fingertips. Theo jerks his hand away. The air is becoming too thin to breathe, and he’s got to get out of here. 

“Well, this was lovely,” he says. He’s apologized; he doesn’t need to sit here anymore, waiting for Draco to absolve him. “But I’ve got some business elsewhere, so I’ll have to be taking my leave. So glad we’ve had a chat, Draco – Granger.” 

He gives Granger a civil nod, his gaze brushing straight past Draco, the traitor. He doesn’t have to look at Harry to know that he’s watching Theo stand, and make his escape. 

The door to Diagon Alley has never looked more appealing. He can feel Draco and Granger’s stares piercing the back of his head as he stalks towards it. 

Theo leaves the Leaky like he’s exiting hell. He barely registers the door slamming behind him, or the bricks behind the Leaky peeling apart and letting him into Diagon Alley. 

He doesn’t allow himself to be surprised when Harry is right on his heels. 

Theo’s feet are pointing towards Luxe before he even starts thinking about a destination, and he gives in. Might as well – Pansy and Daphne will probably be there, and they’re always up for a good Draco-bashing session. He can probably schmooze some free drinks, and –

Harry falls into step beside him. He matches Theo’s strides, his shoulder bumping Theo’s every other step, as if to remind Theo that he’s _there._ He’s still there. 

_Why hasn’t he left?_

“Where’re we going?” Harry asks, after they’ve walked half a block and Theo’s steps are beginning to slow, his thoughts weighing him down. 

He can’t take Harry to Luxe. Luxe is full of desperate, drunken nights, and memories Theo has made a point to forget. But he doesn’t know where else to go. Nott Manor? Nott Manor is _tainted._ Theo can’t take Harry there, not when Theo can feel in every bone of his body the chilling emptiness of the place, the emptiness that he can’t escape, that’s stayed since that horrible night where fists and kicks gave way to a bright green light –

“I don’t know,” Theo confesses, and that might be the first time _ever_ he admits to not knowing something. His breathing is choppy, unsteady, out of control.

Harry’s hand finds Theo’s, warm and solid and frustratingly comforting. He laces their fingers together. They’ve stopped walking in the middle of the street, but Theo doesn’t care. He turns, and he looks, and Harry’s emerald green eyes _(avada kedavra green eyes)_ are steady and true. 

“I’ve never shown you my house,” he says, neutrally, watching Theo carefully. 

Theo inhales deeply, latching on to the lifeline Harry has thrown him. “It should have been Draco’s.” That’s all he knows about Grimmauld Place, really. Draco loves to complain about it whenever he catches a hint of Potter – or, he did. 

Harry scoffs, but he doesn’t comment. He’s waiting, Theo realizes, waiting for Theo to answer the question that he didn’t ask. 

Theo imagines a world where Harry didn’t follow him home from the Burrow, where Theo didn’t kiss Harry, where Harry didn’t _stay,_ and his stomach lurches unpleasantly. 

“Fine,” he says, shaking the nauseous feeling off. Really, what better option does he have? 

A grin slides across Harry’s face, quicksilver swift. “Hold on,” he says.

That’s all the warning Theo gets before Harry apparates them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i accidentally let my little sister get her hands on this one, which I suppose is a good thing for those of you following this, because it may mean more frequent updates...


	9. what you call a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> everyone hates Grimmauld Place.

Grimmauld Place is _grimy._

It reminds Theo of the Nott Manor of his childhood, dripping with dark magic and pure evil. He can’t believe Harry lives here. No wonder he’s over at Theo’s practically every night. Nott Manor is _pristine_ , compared to this. 

“What do you think?”

“Well.” Theo gathers his thoughts, spinning in a circle. He wants to laugh. What he was expecting, he doesn’t know, but it definitely wasn’t this shithole. “It isn’t the type of place I would have expected the Chosen One to live in.”

Harry’s quiet for too long after Theo drops that one, long enough that Theo stops taking in the sheer gaudiness of the parlor decor and looks at him. 

He isn’t staring at Theo, for once, and he looks strangely lost as he stares at the ugly tapestry on the wall. “Please don’t call me that,” he requests. 

“What? The Chosen One?”

Harry shakes his head, looking away. “Please.” 

There’s a strange ache inside Theo, a pang in his chest that makes him want to reach out and touch Harry – hug him, hold him, protect him from wherever he disappeared to. His hands shake. 

Without letting himself think too hard about it, Theo darts forward and touches Harry’s hand, loosely grasping his fingers. 

Harry takes a deep breath, one that Theo can hear rattling through his lungs. 

“They made me into a weapon,” he says, “and they pointed me straight at their enemy. I’m just – I can’t – Don’t call me the Chosen One.”

Theo can’t breathe for a moment, when he hears all the broken layers of betrayal that somehow make up Harry Potter. “I won’t,” he promises. 

He never imagined that Harry might have had it as bad as he did.

Harry’s shoulder sag, or maybe they relax, and he takes a deep breath. “Well. Ron’s out tonight, I think. What should we do?”

Theo cocks an eyebrow, taking in his surroundings. “A place like this should have a cellar,” he says. “A cellar with alcohol.”

Harry laughs. Theo doesn’t exactly understand why, but he’s decided that he’d rather find Grimmauld Place’s wine cellar before he attempts to find out. Draco’s words are still ringing in his ears, and if he closes his eyes, he can see his friend’s contempt. 

“Wrong way,” Harry says, as Theo swings around a corner in the direction he thinks leads down. Harry disagrees – he points in the opposite direction, languidly leaning against the wall.

Theo swivels, and stalks down the hall. At the end, there’s a door hidden in a tiny alcove. Ominous chains criss-cross across it, with a magically reinforced padlock on the knob. Theo raises his eyebrows. Even _his_ alcohol closet isn’t this well protected.

Harry just shrugs, when Theo looks back at him. “No one’s been down there since the war.”

That’s not really an explanation, and Theo feels sick to his stomach when he imagines what might have happened in what clearly was used as a dungeon, not just a cellar. 

Harry unlocks the door with a jerk. “What’re we getting?”

“What do you have?” Theo counters. He follows Harry down a disturbingly rickety stairwell into the darkness below.

“ _Lumos,”_ Harry whispers, before responding, “I don’t know. S-Sirius always seemed to have an infinite supply, but I don’t think he was getting it from down here.” The stairs creaked balefully. “This was where Remus waited out the full moon.”

“Ah.” The werewolf. My, that had been a fun year at Hogwarts – Draco had been excessively smug when Professor Lupin’s lycanthropy had leaked. 

A werewolf cell was a minute bit better than what Theo had been imagining. 

Theo waits by the stairs as Harry ventures into the cellar, the light at the tip of his wand getting smaller and smaller the further away he gets. The darkness around Theo presses in, but he doesn’t take out his own wand, doesn’t cast his own _Lumos._

He’s lived with darkness long enough to forget how to fear it. 

“Aha!” Harry’s shout of surprise echoes, and Theo shivers, realising just how big this cellar-dungeon-basement _-thing_ is. “Wine.”

He returns with an armful of bottles, his face puckered up as though he were trying not to sneeze. Theo refrains from laughing, taking a few. 

“Vintage,” he notes. There’s a thick layer of dust covering every inch of glass, concealing the labels. 

“Still drinkable, I imagine,” Harry says, and Theo agrees. They make their escape from the dampness of the dungeon, returning to the slightly less offputting sitting room.

Theo pops the cork on the first bottle with a charm he learned in his fourth year at Hogwarts. Dusting off the mouth, he raises it in Harry’s direction, toasting him.

“Cheers.” 

Harry offers a second bottle, and Theo considerately opens that one for him. 

“Cheers.”

They drink. 

“So,” Harry begins, once Theo’s halfway through his bottle. “Malfoy’s still an arse.”

Theo groans. He doesn’t really want to talk right now, especially about Draco. Ideally, he and Harry would power through this stack of bottles, then go make out on the nearest horizontal surface. But Potter just had to bring Malfoy’s pointy nose into it…

“He was always an arse,” Theo says. “Don’t tell me you never noticed.”

Harry snorts. “I thought he would’ve mellowed out after the war, especially for Hermione to be dating him.”

“Nope.” Theo pops the ‘p’, letting it echo. “One good woman does not a saint make.”

“Why’re you friends, then?”

“For the same reason I imagine you’re still friends with Granger, and Weasley,” Theo says. “Childhood bonds are unbreakable. Bonds generated in war are everlasting.”

“You said the Leaky Cauldron was punishment,” Harry says, jumping straight into the deep end. All at once, Theo remembers that Harry Potter is a Gryffindor. He doesn’t know why he forgot. 

Maybe he blocked it out. 

“And?”

“Friends shouldn’t punish friends. That’s...”

“Fucked up?” 

Harry nods. 

Theo shrugs, taking another swig of the excellent elf wine. “It’s how our friendship works. It’s what we were taught. It’s… we were fucked up in a lot of the same ways, Draco and I,” Theo confesses. “He’s just handling it badly.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’m incredibly well adjusted, thanks,” Theo says, taking a more dignified sip. 

“Of course.” Harry watches him like he _knows,_ like he can see right through all of Theo’s pretenses, straight through to who Theo is underneath. 

Whoever that is.

Theo doesn’t want to talk anymore. _I’m bored,_ he wants to say. _This is boring._ His limbs ache with exhaustion, and lifting the whiskey to his lips doesn’t seem worth the effort. 

This is why he doesn’t spend too much time with Draco, or with people in general. 

“I’m tired,” he says, finally. 

Harry accepts this without question. “Okay.”

It’s alarming how easy it is to let Harry set Theo’s whiskey aside, to let Harry gently tug Theo out of his seat and up the stairs and to the bedroom. 

It’s alarming how easy it is to collapse into an unfamiliar bed together, to let Harry wrap an arm around Theo’s waist. 

Theo lays his head on Harry’s chest. He can hear Harry’s heart thumping, steady and sure, just like Harry himself. 

He imagines that this is normal. That he can have this. 

He knows it’s a dream before he even closes his eyes. 


	10. catching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fwb? not today mate

Theo feels like a creep, watching Harry sleep. 

He can’t help it. They spent the night together, just sleeping, and that’s a novelty Theo can’t quite wrap his mind around yet. Harry looks beautiful, all open and soft and trusting, and Theo can’t understand why. Why does Harry trust Theo to see him like this? Soft, vulnerable, miles away from Auror Chosen One Harry Potter…

Theo feels soft, too. He feels like he belongs here, like he was always meant to be here in bed beside Harry. Like this is…

He can’t think of a word to describe the immense, intense _feeling_ that overwhelms him every time he looks at Harry, and it terrifies him. 

Harry must sense him staring, because he shifts, his eyelids fluttering open. His eyes are a stunning green, for all that they’re unfocused and drowsy. 

He smiles, and the corners of Theo’s mouth turn up without his permission. 

“Good morning,” Theo says, and slowly, Harry moves forward, heading for a kiss. 

They just woke up, Theo hasn’t even brushed his teeth, he probably tastes like death – he _feels_ like death, the finely aged elf wine from last night pulsing through his brain. But Harry’s _right there_ , and when he smiles…

Theo can’t help but kiss him when he smiles like that, soft and sleepy and beautiful. 

“Mmm,” Harry murmurs, humming against Theo’s lips. “Good morning.”

Theo pulls him on top of him, his thighs bracketing Harry’s hips. Harry holds himself up on his elbows, pressing delicate, open-mouthed kisses to Theo’s lips, his jaw, his neck…

“How is it,” he says against Theo’s neck, “that you’re not hungover as fuck?”

“Oh, I am,” Theo breathes. “I’m just excellent at hiding it.”

Harry’s laugh vibrates through Theo’s bones, through every point they’re touching, skin to skin. Theo feels incandescent, and he doesn’t understand why. He doesn’t understand why he’s here, and not at home sulking about Draco’s dickishness. 

“Ron will be home soon,” Harry says, rolling onto his back with a groan. 

Theo can’t decide if that means they should quickly fuck now, or wait until Weasley’s around to hear it. Then, he picks out a third meaning. 

Harry won’t want Theo to still be here when Weasley returns. 

He sits up, rolling his shoulders. The blanket falls off of him, and goosebumps rise on his skin. “I ought to go back to the Manor,” he says. “I need a new shirt.”

Theo had been rather clumsy last night, taking it off drunk and half-asleep and craving skin-to-skin contact with a burning intensity. Most of the buttons had popped off, skittering under Harry’s bed and dresser. 

“I’ll come with you,” Harry says, and Theo freezes, looking back at him. 

Harry’s green eyes are steady. He’s propped up on his elbows, watching Theo carefully. Theo knows that if he twitches, if he gives Harry any indication that he doesn’t want to be followed home, Harry will back off and do whatever Auror Chosen One Harry Potter does on his days off.

Theo jerks his head in a small nod, and Harry flings himself off the bed, heading for his closet. Theo pulls on his mangled shirt. A quick accio would summon the missing buttons; a quick reparo could mend the shirt. 

Theo leaves it be. He quite likes the idea of Harry accidentally stepping on a button, and having to think of Theo every time. 

Harry’s ready to go long before he’s expecting Weasley back, but he still chivvies Theo through the house and to the kitchen. 

“Why so fast?” Theo drawls, sauntering to the fireplace. “Am I your dirty little secret?”

Harry grins. “Have you seen the sun outside?” he asks. “Nott Manor has an actual backyard, Theo, not just a plot of dirt like Grimmauld Place.”

Theo huffs, and accepts the handful of Floo powder Harry passes him. 

They’ve already stepped through the Floo when Theo realises that at this point, he shouldn’t be surprised. He shouldn’t be surprised that Harry isn’t leaving him behind, that Harry isn’t letting Theo leave on his own, to go wallow alone. 

Theo is yawning when they arrive in Nott Manor’s kitchen fireplace, startling the elves. He makes a beeline for the cupboard that he’s pretty sure has a hangover potion, but Nanny stops him halfway there, pressing a vial into his hand. He downs it blindly. “Thanks, Nan.”

Nanny offers one to Harry, who takes it with a bemused air, like he’s not sure he should be allowing the elf to mother – or, rather, nanny – him. When Theo quirks an eyebrow at him, he shrugs, downing the potion. 

“Don’t let Hermione know you have elves,” he says. “It’s a personal crusade for her.”

Theo snorts. “Draco must love that.”

Harry laughs, bright and clear. “It’s an endless source of amusement for us at dinners.”

“Master Nott broke his shirt,” Nanny says, yanking at Theo’s sleeve. 

“Ouch - Nanny -”

“Take it off,” Nanny orders. “Master Nott will drag the family name through the mud, yes he will, wearing a shirt that looks like he just got out of a wh –”

“Nanny!” Theo interrupts, eyes wide, before she can finish. He looks up at Harry, but Harry has a hand clapped over his mouth, looking not at all offended and more like he’s going to explode with laughter. 

“I’ll go get you a new shirt,” Harry says, sounding half-strangled and practically purple. The coward runs out of the room. 

“Ow – Nanny, I’ll give you this shirt when I have a new one to put on, okay?”

The house elf is appeased by the promise, and Theo collapses into a chair at the kitchen table. 

This was not how he expected his day to go. 

The Floo chooses that moment to flare up, Blaise sticking his head through. “Theo?”

“Blaise!” Theo falls out of the chair, scrambling over to the fireplace. 

“You missed me, then,” Blaise smirks. “Heard Draco’s still a dick. Can I come through?”

“I – uh – no.”

Blaise’s smile fades. “What?”

Theo takes a minute to compose himself before responding. “Harr – Potter is here,” he says neutrally. Blaise raises his eyebrows. 

“Is he? I thought Draco was joking.”

“Joking?” His tone is as bland as he could make it, all his rage towards Draco bottled up and shoved into a tiny, tiny corner of his heart. 

“He said you’re dating Potter,” Blaise says, and he’s watching Theo more carefully, too carefully. “And I said, that’s ridiculous, Theo doesn’t date. Theo doesn’t do feelings.”

“I don’t,” Theo says blankly. He hears the lack of conviction the moment it comes out of his mouth, and wants to throw up. 

“Fuck, Theo,” Blaise exhales. “Potter? Really?”

“What?”

“I cannot believe that out of everyone, you picked Potter to catch feelings for.”

“I did _not_ –”

“Oh, so you’re going to lie to me, now?”

“I don’t lie,” Theo bites out, and Blaise subsides. 

“So, I can’t come over.”

“Not today, no.”

“Well.” Blaise pauses, searching for words. This isn’t how their Floo calls normally end. Usually, it ends with one of them climbing through, and a mess of hands-lips-teeth falling into one of their beds. “We’ll talk later,” he decides upon.

Theo taps his temple in a semi-salute, and Blaise’s head disappears. 

Theo exhales, pushing himself away from the fireplace. 

Harry is standing in the doorway. 

Theo freezes. _How much did you hear,_ he wants to ask. He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to know, especially when Harry’s looking at him like Theo cares for lost kittens and puppies in his spare time. 

“What?” he asks instead, and it comes out surly and brusque. 

Harry shakes his head, that soft look never leaving his face. “I found you a shirt,” he says, throwing it at Theo’s head. Theo catches it, shrugging last night’s shirt off. 

“Are you sure you want me to put this on?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, smirking. “We’re going outside.”

“We’re _what?_ ”

“It’s a nice day,” Harry says. “Let’s have a picnic.”

And really, how is anyone to expect Theo to say no to that smile?

He doesn’t understand why he’s letting Harry commandeer his day, why watching Harry laugh and make friends with Theo’s house elves makes his stomach churn. He doesn’t understand why he doesn’t make more of a fuss when Harry doesn’t let him put any bottles of firewhiskey in the picnic basket. 

Theo drags his feet when they’re finally headed outside. He contemplates popping into his study, and snagging a flask or two, just in case Harry changes his mind. 

Then Harry turns, and he smiles. “You coming?” 

Theo’s heart does a terrifying, fluttering leap. 

It’s okay. Theo is fine. This is fine.

But Merlin damn it… why does he have to _smile_ like that?


	11. mirror, mirror, on the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> m e t a

Harry adores the great outdoors. 

Theo is ambivalent, really. Pre-Harry – and isn’t it odd, that Theo’s life is split into post- and pre- _Harry_ now – Theo would go outside, on occasion, mostly to get drunk under the stars when he was too claustrophobic to get drunk in his father’s study. But now, Post-Harry, he’s outside every day. Outside eating lunch, when Harry can get away from work; outside for dinner, watching Harry fly in lazy loops. Harry’s broom now permanently lives at Nott Manor, Theo thinks, and its occupancy is only a trifle less permanent than Harry’s, himself. 

It’s getting harder and harder to _imagine_ , Theo finds. Harder to imagine a world where Harry isn’t going in and out of Nott Manor as he pleases, harder to imagine a world where Theo spends every night alone, instead of luxuriating in the heat that Harry puts off better than any Warming Charm.

Not that Theo doesn’t try. He tries. He tries to imagine letting Blaise distract him for drinks back at Narcissa's luncheon, or never going to Luxe, or saying _no_ when Potter dragged him out of bed to go to the Weasley’s. He tries, then his brain stutters, and his attention catches on some tangible proof of Harry’s presence that defeats his imagination thoroughly – like Theo’s tan, which has sprung up out of nowhere after so many weeks of letting Harry coax him outside. 

Theo doesn’t notice it, really, until he accidentally catches sight of himself in the hideously large mirror in the front hall and stops short, because he thought there was a stranger tailing him. 

When Theo was little, his mother would hold him up in front of this mirror, and they would count all their similarities, all their differences, and practice smiling. He had his mother’s eyes, and her dark curls, and her fine cheekbones, and her dimples – and he had been too young to know that the hard line of his mouth was identical to his father’s, when he wasn’t smiling. 

He hasn’t looked at himself in a mirror in years, always sneaking past in a blur of dark hair and pale skin. Now, he stops, and turns, and looks at himself straight on. 

Theo looks nothing like he hoped, dreamed, _dreaded_ he would, after all these years. He’s taller, much taller than his mother was; and he’s lost the baby-fat that was still clinging to his cheeks the last time he checked a mirror. His skin is a glowing gold, so different from the deathly pale that’s clung to him for as long as he can remember, and there’s a vibrancy in his eyes that’s entirely new. 

He looks _alive._

Tentatively, he tries a smile. 

His muscles remember, even after all those years, then Theo’s looking at his mother’s smile on a stranger’s face. His heart twists with a yank of _grief-sorrow-shade_ , and he imagines his mother standing next to him, looking no different than she did when he was five, six, nine, ten, smiling along with him. 

_Smile, Theo,_ she whispers _. Let’s smile._

Theo smiles, pointedly not searching for the frightened ten-year-old boy he was in his reflection.

“Theo?”

Harry pokes his head through the door, and Theo abruptly remembers that he was supposed to have gone outside. That Harry has set up another picnic, and they were going to watch the stars. 

“Harry,” Theo responds, and he means to sound as apathetic as he always does, but his voice comes out strangled and suffocated, dying in his throat. 

Blaise would have turned right back around, leaving Theo to sort his emotions out alone. Draco would have frozen like a rat in a trap, waiting for Theo to summon up some semblance of a pretense. Harry barely pauses at the door, walking in and to Theo before the last syllable of his name has even left Theo’s mouth. 

Theo is going to stop comparing Harry to his friends. 

Harry’s hand slides along Theo’s back, and he tugs Theo closer to him until he can comfortably lean his cheek on Theo’s shoulder. He smells like the breeze outside, like he’s just gotten off his broom, swathed in the scent of apple blossoms and grass. Theo feels himself easing into Harry’s warmth, his tense muscles relaxing, and it startles Theo how familiar this is. Startles him like a Fizzing Whiz-bang going off in the hall. 

“Theo,” Harry murmurs. Theo drags his focus away from his own reflection, relegating it to a shadow in the corner of his eye, and meets his gaze in the mirror. 

“If love exists,” he says, speaking through a hoarse throat, “I don’t know what it means.” 

“Do you want to know?” Harry asks, his fingers stroking and twining through Theo’s. 

“I don’t know,” Theo repeats, softly, his voice swallowed in Nott Manor’s cavernous front hall. “I might.”

Harry’s palm is warm and solid against his, and he squeezes Theo’s hand so gently that Theo almost misses it. “When you know, we can find out.”

His smile looks so much more genuine in the mirror than Theo’s. 


End file.
